Credible Threat

by Ken Fite

  “Hang on a second, Judy,” said Paul as he lowered the phone and placed it on his lap. He started to roll the window down when Claudia appeared. Before he could, the woman lifted her hands and fired two shots into the van, shattering the driver’s side window. Paul slumped over the steering wheel.

  Rich panicked. He moved his body up against the door and lifted his hands.

  “Please don’t kill me!” he yelled. “I did everything you asked me to do! I have information to give you!”

  “What kind of information, Mr. Sullivan?” asked Claudia.

  “Earlier, you told me to let you know if I saw anything you needed to know about.”

  “What did you see?”

  Rich hesitated, not fully understanding what exactly he saw, just knowing that whatever happened between his boss and Carson, the man in the facility, didn’t seem right to him.

  “I watched Paul hand his cooler to a man named Carson in the facility we were working from.”

  “Do you know why?” asked Claudia.

  Rich shook his head. “No, I asked him about it but he wouldn’t tell me. Just said not to worry about it.”

  “Good,” said Claudia. She pulled the trigger and watched as Rich’s body became lifeless.

  The woman returned to her car and climbed inside. “Any problems?” asked Max Donovan.

  Claudia put the car in gear and sped off. She left the rest area and got back on I-70. “Both men were taken care of. That solves one of our problems, but we have another loose end that we need to tie up, don’t we?”

  Donovan nodded. “We have a team of men working on finding Jordan.”

  “And if they don’t?”

  “We just need to keep him at bay for the next few hours. It won’t matter much after that, will it? I do believe that my men will find him and the woman and take them both out before they cause us problems.”

  “Let’s hope that you do find Jordan, Mr. Donovan. I know firsthand that if you don’t, he’ll find you.”

  THIRTY

  JAMI RUMMAGED THROUGH the bag that Chris brought us from the FBI’s armory. “Here’s a few more mags,” she said and handed me two of them. I looked them over and stuffed them in my pockets.

  “We’re gonna have to use our phones to stay in contact with each other. Where’s the Bluetooth earpiece?” I asked and Jami found it and handed it to me. “Can you manage without one?”

  Chris nodded. I turned it on, paired it with my phone, and called him. “Copy?” I asked after he answered the call and acknowledged that he could hear me. “You and Jami take the front. I’ll come up the back.”

  I climbed out, closed the door, and tapped the side of the SUV twice to let Chris know he could take off.

  After I stepped over the guardrails I heard the backdoor open. “I’m coming with you,” said Jami. “Chris wants to take the front alone. He said there’s more of a risk of being seen if there’s two of us.”

  “Okay, fine,” I said. Jami closed the door and stepped over the railing and Chris drove off. It would only take him a couple of minutes to get to Quincy Street. We needed to move fast.

  I put my weapon inside my belt and started climbing. Jami and I grabbed onto the trunks of small trees and roots to pull ourselves up and over the incline. Once we reached the top, the terrain straightened out.

  “I think I see a light up ahead,” she said as we got closer to the home.

  We continued walking through the woods, which weren’t as dense as I thought they would be, and finally reached the home. A fresh dusting of snow blanketed the ground and the roof. The residence was large. A tall fence surrounded the property. I found a crack between two of the wood panels and looked inside.

  “What do you see?” asked Jami.

  “Tennis court. Light on upstairs. Here, take a look.” I stepped aside so she could look at the property.

  “Blake, I’m on Quincy, approaching the target. Three houses down,” said Reed.

  “Copy,” I replied and turned to Jami. “We need to go. Ready?”

  She nodded. I bent down and cupped my hands. Jami placed a foot on top and as she did, I stood and lifted her over the fence. She reached the other side and seconds later, she let me know that it was clear. I jumped, grabbed onto the top of the fence, and pulled myself over, landing next to Jami.

  She already had her weapon drawn. I grabbed mine. Pointing with two fingers to our left, I let Jami know that I wanted her to take that side of the property and she started to move around the inside perimeter.

  I took the right side and moved quickly.

  “Blake, there’s–” I heard Chris say, his voice breaking up.

  “I did not copy. Repeat that, Chris.” I continued to walk in a crouched stance toward the back of the house. There was no response. “Chris, I did not copy.”

  There was gunfire toward the front of the house. Jami and I looked at each other.

  Someone inside the house turned on the lights in the backyard. Our positions were compromised. We ran to the house and met at the backdoor. I kicked the door in. Jami entered first. “Federal agents!” she yelled.

  A man came into the kitchen and shot at us. Jami returned fire and took him down. Another appeared to our left and I took him out. “Chris?” I yelled again as we ran through the house looking for Donovan. He wasn’t downstairs. I ran up the stairs and Jami shot another man that came in from the front of the house.

  Halfway up the stairs, I looked back down at Jami. She was fine so I kept moving.

  “All clear,” I said as I returned to the first floor after confirming that nobody, including Donovan, was upstairs. I stood next to the front door with my weapon drawn. Jami pulled it open and I ran outside.

  Jami followed.

  Chris was on the ground, holding a hand tight to his abdomen and in a lot of pain. “Stay with me,” I said as Jami crouched down to help me look at the wound.

  “It’s bad,” she said. “We need to call the paramedics and get him to a hospital.”

  “Jami,” Chris replied. “George Washington University Hospital is close by. Drive me there.”

  Jami looked at me. “Get down,” I yelled and raised my Glock. A man appeared from the side of the house. I fired two shots. One of them hit his shoulder. The man ran and I followed. Once I turned the corner and had a shot, I fired and the man dropped to the ground near the backyard. I walked to him and fired again.

  I ran back to the front of the house. “We don’t have time to call for help. Get his keys and go,” I told Jami.

  “Blake, I don’t even know where–”

  “You have to go now!” I yelled.

  I helped Chris get to his feet and headed to his car parked down the street. Once we got moving, he was fine walking. Chris kept a hand held tight against his lower chest and managed to get the keys over to Jami. Once we found the car, I helped him inside and Jami drove off. I ran back to the house and walked the perimeter again.

  Once I was sure that it was clear, I went inside and turned the spotlights off in the backyard.

  I shut the back door and leaned against it. I slowly slid down to the floor, sat down, and set the gun on the floor. I was exhausted. Overwhelmed. Defeated. I grabbed the back of my head and lifted my knees.

  What was happening?

  Who were these men?

  And where the hell was Max Donovan?

  I closed my eyes and thought about Chris and Jami. I wondered if she would be able to find the hospital.

  THIRTY-ONE

  A KNOCK AT the door shot adrenaline throughout my body. I stood, rounded the corner from the kitchen, and stepped over one of the men on the floor.

  I looked out the window to the left of the front door and saw a man in his mid-thirties with a medium build. “It’s open,” I said, deciding that he’d think I was just one of the men inside.

  He didn’t look anything like the dead men sprawled on the floor around the house. This man wore brown coveralls and looked like someone who might work as a mecha
nic somewhere. Because he knocked on the front door instead of just entering, I decided that he hadn’t been to the residence before.

  The man entered the house and as soon as he walked through the front door, I kicked it closed.

  “Don’t move,” I said and trained my Glock on him. The only lights on in the house were in the kitchen. They lit the foyer just enough for me to be able to see where we were standing, but not much else. “Take a seat,” I continued and motioned for him to sit down on the couch inside the front room.

  “Who are you?”

  “How about you go first and we take things from there?”

  “What are you, a cop? I don’t know anything and I’m not saying another word until I see my lawyer.”

  I walked over to the light and flipped it on. The man’s eyes grew wide as he noticed several men dead, their bodies scattered throughout the various rooms downstairs, and blood splattered on every wall. “That’s where you’re wrong, Carson,” I said, noticing his name sewed onto his coveralls. “There isn’t going to be a lawyer. There’s just you,” I pointed my Glock at his head, “and me.”

  Carson put up a good front, but I watched him carefully. I knew that he was terrified.

  “Why are you here?” He didn’t answer and I paced around him. “Who do you work for? I want a name.”

  “Max Donovan,” he replied and smirked at me.

  “You’re lying,” I yelled and ran at the man, grabbed his throat, and shoved the Glock against his temple.

  He still wouldn’t budge. I pointed the Glock to the right of his head and fired.

  “Stop!” he yelled. “I’ll talk. Just don’t hurt me.” The smile was gone and he started shaking violently.

  I took a few steps back and pointed the gun back at him. “Start talking.”

  Carson took a deep breath and once again looked around the room at the dead men on the floor. “I don’t know the name of the man I’ve been working for. But he paid me a lot of money to do something for him.”

  “Go on,” I said as I heard the faint warble of sirens approaching in the distance. Keeping the gun trained on Carson, I walked to the window, looked outside, and saw two police cruisers pulling up to the house.

  “Talk!” I yelled as I returned to the man but Carson could already see the flashing police lights through the bay window across from him. He shook his head. “Talk, damn it. Tell me what he asked you to do! Talk!”

  Men were running up the entranceway, their shoes were loud on the porch’s wood floor.

  “Drop your weapon!” one of them yelled to me as he entered the residence, followed by another cop. “Drop it now!”

  I stared at Carson as I lifted my hands into the air, knelt down, and slowly set the Glock on the floor. “My name is Blake Jordan. I’m an advisor to president-elect James Keller and working with the FBI to stop a terrorist attack that’s planned for tomorrow.”

  Handcuffs were placed on my wrists as the first officer grabbed my arm. “Stand up for me.”

  “Call Bill Landry, special agent in charge of the FBI’s DC field office. He’ll confirm what I’m telling you.” I watched as another officer entered the home and handcuffed Carson. “I believe this man is involved,” I continued, looking at Carson. “You need to let me question him. We’re running out of time.”

  “Both of you are going to be questioned,” the officer replied as I saw another patrol car pull up to the house. “Take them downtown and get a CSI team here,” he said and Carson and I were both taken outside.

  I thought we’d both be taken in the same car, but one of the other officers assisted Carson into his vehicle and left. “You need to take the man that just left to FBI headquarters,” I said. “Please, just make the call.”

  The officer looked me over and said he’d check it out. He stepped away to try to reach Landry. I waited, standing near the back of his car. The handcuffs made my wrists hurt because of the zip ties from earlier. We were alone. The other officer was inside looking around and waiting for the Crime Scene Unit to arrive so they could document the scene, figure out what may have happened, and why.

  I saw the officer turn around and give me a look. I started to feel sick to my stomach. I didn’t have time for any delays. I needed to figure out what was going on. Chris was hurt. He might even be dead. Jami was gone. The last thing I needed right now was to be taken downtown and questioned for hours.

  The expression on the officer’s face as he disconnected the call told me everything.

  “I got through to Landry,” he said. “Told me he knows of you, but said you’re not working for the FBI and he doesn’t have any idea why you would be here.”

  The officer turned to open the door to the back of his car. I knew I had to do something.

  With his back to me, I jumped him, placed his neck against the inside of my elbow, and squeezed hard. “Don’t fight it,” I whispered and kept squeezing. He went limp and I gently lowered him onto the ground.

  I looked up and confirmed that the other officer was still inside.

  The keys to my handcuffs were on his belt. I grabbed them and, although it hurt, I twisted my wrists so I could reach the keyhole and the lock popped open. I dropped the handcuffs next to the officer’s body.

  Then I grabbed his keys and climbed inside the vehicle. I saw my Glock and phone inside an evidence bag.

  As I left the neighborhood, I passed another officer that sped past me on their way to Quincy Street. I knew they were going to figure out what happened fast. I drove south on 16th Street, remembering the directions that Chris had given Jami. “Take 16th south to K Street,” was the last thing I heard him say.

  When I got close to K Street, I saw a sign that said the hospital was to the right. I ditched the car and walked west eight blocks and entered George Washington University Hospital’s emergency room.

  THIRTY-TWO

  AT TWO O’CLOCK in the morning, James Keller heard the door to the adjacent conference room inside Blair House open. His vice president had been meeting with the Secret Service for the past hour.

  Earlier, Keller had been discussing the inauguration with his VP when two Secret Service agents walked in and asked to speak with Billings. The president-elect had asked that they talk with Billings after they got through the next twenty-four hours, but the agents refused.

  Billings emerged, followed by the two agents. One left the room while the other stayed to debrief Keller.

  “Mike, give us a minute,” said Keller as he motioned for Billings to wait for him in the next room.

  “We’re going to need to talk with him again tomorrow afternoon after the inauguration ceremonies.”

  Keller stepped closer to the agent. “What’s your name?” he whispered, trying not to wake his wife who was sleeping down the hall.

  “Seavers, sir.”

  “Okay, Agent Seavers – you need to understand how this looks for a new president taking office. I’m not sure I fully understand the problem. Do you believe Billings knows something that he’s not telling you?”

  Seavers shook his head. “It’s hard to say.”

  “Let me ask you something. What are you doing to find Max Donovan? Your focus should be on him.”

  The agent crossed his arms. “Sir, during the interview with Mr. Billings, I received an update on Donovan. We sent a unit to his home in northwest Washington. Donovan wasn’t there.”

  Keller could tell that the agent looked concerned. “What did you find, Agent Seavers?”

  “Police had already arrived at the home. Four men had been killed. There was no sign of Max Donovan.”

  “Go on.”

  “When law enforcement arrived, they found Blake Jordan interrogating another man who MPD now has in custody.”

  “Well, that’s good news,” replied Keller. “Sounds like you have a lead to find out what might be going on. Where is Jordan now?”

  The agent shook his head. “Sir, Mr. Jordan is wanted for assaulting an officer and we cannot locate him.”
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  Keller raised his eyebrows. “Assaulting an officer? I’m not following, Agent Seavers.”

  “I need to understand more on this myself, sir. This is just the information I received a few minutes ago. I’ll update you if he’s captured.”

  “Do not use deadly force on Jordan. Make sure that’s clear with the MPD, Secret Service, FBI, whoever.”

  Seavers nodded and left.

  Keller walked to the next room and found Mike Billings sitting at a table. “What do you know about all of this, Mike?” the president-elect asked as Billings stood.

  “Know about what, Jim? I know about as much as you do. Donovan supposedly tried to kidnap and kill Jordan and a DDC agent yesterday morning and Donovan hasn’t been seen since. Allegations are now being made that this might be related to the inauguration. They think that Max Donovan is a terrorist.”

  “The agent I just spoke with told me that they went to Max Donovan’s home. Four men are dead, another is in custody, and now Blake Jordan is wanted for assaulting a police officer. This is a problem, Mike.”

  “Jim, I didn’t know any of that. Why would Jordan–”

  “Mike, Agent Seavers just told me he’s not sure he fully believes you. He wants to talk again tomorrow.”

  “I’ve just spent the last hour being grilled and I’ll tell you the same thing that I told Seavers and the other agent he was with – I don’t know where Max is and I’m not privy to anything that he may be involved in.”

  “He’s your aide, Mike,” Keller yelled. “You hired him. You’re the one that brought him on board.”

  Keller noticed an agent stationed down the hall enter the room when the conversation got heated. The man leaned against the wall in the far corner of the room. He didn’t interfere. He just watched.

  Billings took his eyes off the agent and looked at Keller. “We’ve been friends for a long time, Jim–”

  “Do you know how bad this is going to look? Your aide is involved in trying to murder a senior advisor to a President of the United States. Four men found dead at his home. What the hell is Donovan doing?”